The Ladies Are Dirty
by MsGingerMoose
Summary: When the badly mutilated body of a young man is found in a dusty New York basement, it sparks the hunt for a killer with a grudge and a brutal plan. The whole team must work to find out who can be trusted amongst a company of thieves and ex cons.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings! Before I let you go on any further, I have to point out that this is a joint story with xDollix. We share a geeky passion for CSI NY and decide to collaborate on this little number. **

**Disclaimer: We don't own CSI NY nor do we own the title technically, its a quote from Gone in 60 Seconds.**

**As you may have guessed, the story will contain gore as per usual of CSI and there will also be some swearing, just cus its fun =D**

---

**F**or the city that never slept New York could seem so still at times. Like when the summer months were blasting out the last of their rough heat, burning the leaves to orange and red, and the endless tide of people became as sluggish as the melting tar on the roads. When the buildings glimmered and shimmered, their windows like bright, blank eyes and mouths full of glass teeth - a great sprawling mirage that would swallow you whole. Many had tried to take a chunk out of that shiny surface to get to the rotting innards. And on a day like today those innards were bubbling.

A shot sounded, bursting through the thick air and shattering against the still, warm spaces around the people on the street. People screamed and tried to hurl themselves instinctively away from the threat. More shots, accompanied by yelling voices, and a dark shape hurtled from an alleyway and into the flinching ocean of people, ducking and shoving and desperate. Other shapes followed, shouting in thick vests and sweaty shirts, with badges that glinted with sharp reassurance in the sun. A warmer glint than the light flashing from their carefully held guns. They pelted after their prey as he plowed red faced and panting through the crowds on the street. He sped down a side alley and through a door hanging precariously from rusted hinges. It toppled noisily behind him and the police officers followed their guns as they tracked him into the stifling air of someone's basement.

The first officer slowed the others and stepped cautiously into the warm shadows, bright blue eyes darting and angry. His black hair was soaked with sweat, but his breath was even, despite the impromptu sprint. His feet crunched quietly on the dirt and debris under them as he placed them slowly and deliberately on the floor. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead, but he didn't so much as blink. He couldn't afford to with an armed suspect hiding somewhere in the dark. He strained in the darkness, concentrating on distinguishing the sounds outside from the ones in this cavernous hideout. He contemplated announcing his arrival, maybe scare the perp into moving. But he decided the subtle approach would be more suitable - this guy was fast and he didn't want to give away his position. The suspect however appeared to have chosen the first method and suddenly bolted from behind a wall, heading for the chink of light at the opposite end of the basement.

"NYPD! Stop where you are!" The officer's voice boomed out in the warm darkness, as he was followed inside by his uniformed colleagues, the light from their torches skittering back and forth across the room. The runner's outline suddenly disappeared and there was a sharp yelp of surprise from up ahead. Before he could get back on his feet there were half a dozen, police issue, nine millimeter Glocks aimed at his head. The first officer's foot made contact with something as he bent to cuff the now captive suspect. He clicked his black torch on and the beam passed over a pair of feet. An all too familiar coldness filled the tall man's stomach as he shone the light over the rest of the body.

"Guys, step back," he said as he saw it was a man, his face slashed open in a spray of red around his mouth and his eyes wide and staring. He reached for his radio, just behind his holster and raised it to his mouth.

"This is Detective Flack. I need to report a homicide on West 34th and 10th Avenue. I'm gonna need forensics and the coroner down here immediately."

---

The strange stillness had spread into the basement - though the dirty, dusty room was now filled with hot lights and bustling people, the group of three men standing looking down at the prone, blood spattered form on the ground seemed to inhabit their own small and quiet space amongst it all.

One of them lowered himself slowly into a crouch, eyes flickering between the long, jagged gap of the corpse's mouth and the neat red hole in the middle of the pale, waxy forehead.

"He's been here at least 24 hours, Mac." the man murmured, his voice deep and gentle and carrying easily in the stillness. The man to whom he'd spoken nodded silently, his gaze momentarily weary, though he exuded a reassuring strength, and the weariness faded quickly back behind contemplation and consideration.

"He doesn't appear to have been moved." he added, voice as steady as his persona.

"Yeah, check that out." Flack shone his torch onto a spot on the wall the lights on the stands didn't reach. There was a large amount of dried blood on the concrete blocks, grotesquely red in the dim light, shining morbidly amongst the dust and grime.

"High velocity blood spatter. He was shot here." said Mac, shining his own torch over the spray of blood and small fragments of brain matter. In amongst the mess, there was a bullet lodged in the grey concrete. The man who had spoken first confirmed it as he turned the body on its side.

"Yeah, there's an exit wound almost at the base of his skull."

"Alright Hawkes, get him ready to go to Sid and I'll start processing what's left of the scene."

Hawkes nodded and sighed, wiping at the drops of sweat beading across his dark skin, his equally dark eyes fixed on the bloody hollow of the victim's mouth.

"He certainly won't be talking to us any time soon." He breathed, seeming heavy with the sad resignation of someone who has seen many lives snatched away too soon.

Mac glanced up from his kit and replied, voice grim and sure,

"Then we'll let the evidence do the talking."

--- _Three Days Earlier _---

"Out here in the fields! I fight for my meals!" Painted lips traced the shapes of the words along with the radio blasting from a sleek, black sports car. "I get my back into my living!" The young woman sat on the hood of the car, the sun furiously heating the metal below her denim clad legs. Her singing paused for a moment as she took a draw from a roll up and held the fumes in. Bluish smoke leaked slowly from between her lips and she leaned back further onto the wind screen. "I don't need to be forgiven! Yeah yeah yeah..." Her voice trailed into a murmur as she was interrupted by a loud buzzing noise. She sat upright and lifted her oversized, highly reflective aviator sunglasses up into deep red curls to see more clearly. After a moment of squinting into the distance, she got up and strode quickly to the large, metal gate in front of her as it slid open slowly. A smirk played across pink, gloss covered lips as a tall, slim figure, dressed all in black, emerged from the heat haze shimmering across the dusty ground. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her shorts and took another draw from the roll up now hanging limply from her mouth. Stopping just short of a small wooden booth, the young woman waved to the person leaving the large, grey walled building.

"Well damn, here was me thinking I'd be gettin' a cab home." The taller girl called with a smirk and a heavy accent, as she ran to her waiting friend, who pulled her into a tight embrace and held on.

"Don't suppose I can interest you in a draw, my dear Eleanor?" The red head teased as they separated.

"Hell yeah, girl." Heavy lidded, green eyes shone with a deep, ecstatic relief as she practically snatched the smoldering joint from between her shorter companion's fingers. Eleanor took a long, well anticipated draw, pulling that little bit of toxic freedom deep into her lungs. Two years of four walls and a purgatory of concrete, steel and prison yard scraps had finally come to an end and she was most definitely looking forward to getting as wasted as possible, as quickly as possible.

"Ah Lilliana, smoking weed right outside the jail that I've just been released from...how typically you." Eleanor laughed fondly and ruffled Lily's hair.

"There's vodka in the glove compartment too." Lily added, as she jumped into the driver's seat of the car while Eleanor dumped her barely filled hold all in the back seat.

"Well you do come prepared! Sweet ride by the way." Eleanor got in the passenger side and pulled the small glass bottle from the drawer in front of her. She screwed up her face as she took a swig of the burning liquid, feeling her stomach squirm in protest, but the rest of her tingle with satisfaction.

"Yes, lovely little 1974 Chevy Camaro." Lily ran a loving hand over the black steering wheel and grinned. "Uncle Marty… 'acquired' it a few months ago and restored her from the wreck he got her in. Said it suited me and that I should pick you up in it." She added as she pulled a pair of black, thick framed glasses from the recently installed cup holder and put them on. "Best not drive half blind _and _slightly stoned."

Eleanor laughed loudly and wildly, loving the buoyant feeling in her chest and the answering grin on her friend's face. Then Lily started the engine and the car sped off, leaving nothing but dust and hot concrete in its wake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to all who read and reviewed, it means a lot to us! =) Here is chappie two and hopefully three should be along a little quicker! **

---

"Afternoon Sid."

Mac stopped to watch as the skinny grey haired man who served as the labs medical examiner continued rooting around their victims head with a long, plastic rod. He had the man propped up on his side and appeared to be exerting quite a lot of effort.

"How's it going?"

"Just getting the trajectory for you Mac." With a quiet grunt Sid popped the rod all the way through so that it stuck out a few inches from the back of the man's skull. He straightened with a puff and admired his work, exuding his usual aura of eccentric charm.

"Fixed lividity, Sid?" Mac turned at the voice behind him to see Hawkes studying the victim's back as Sid lowered him back onto the table. He cast an acknowledging glance in Sheldon's direction and nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I'd say so. He wasn't moved at all in the two days he was lying there. That's when I estimate time of death to have been. Maybe the early hours of Thursday morning." He said, looking at the cold body on his table – young, fit, obvious Latino heritage. Sid thought of rinsing blood out of thick dark hair and supposing that this was just the kind of young man his daughter might go for.

Mac was looking at the trajectory rod with narrowed eyes. "The shooter would have had to have been above him." Mac was concentrating on his memory of the basement, trying to think if there were any ledges or rafters.

"Or he was on his knees." Sid suggested. "I found traces of GSR around the entrance wound and ligature marks on his wrists." The ME handed Mac a magnifying glass and he passed it over the vic's right wrist.

"Very neat lines. Cable tie maybe?"

Hawkes had leaned in close as well and agreed with Mac. "They've left ribbed impressions in the skin."

"So am I correct in saying the gunshot to the head was the cause of death?"

"Indeed, he lost a lot of blood from the wounds around his mouth, as you probably noticed his shirt was covered in it. His heart was definitely pumping when the killer cut his tongue out."

Mac fixed his gaze with Sid's. "His tongue is gone?"

Sid reached over and pulled the victim's mouth open. "Yes, I'd say the lacerations on the outside were because he was struggling. They're very rough and irregular."

Mac and Hawkes both leaned in close and peered into the man's mouth. It was encrusted with blackening blood and dust from the basement floor. And unmistakably missing a tongue.

"I also found this...sticky substance on his cheek." Sid continued and held up a swab inside a test tube. A fuchsia coloured gel glistened slightly on it as he turned it in the light.

"Looks like residue from a hard candy or something?" Hawkes offered, dark gaze peering curiously at the swab. "I'll get it to Adam, I'm sure he'll figure it out in no time."

Sid smiled, "I'm sure. I also found smears of what appears to be motor oil on his hands, arms and around his ankles, which I already sent to trace."

"Motor oil?" said Hawkes, his brow creasing as questions and answers flooded through his mind.

"Mm. Is it possible our vic was a mechanic?" Sid asked.

Hawkes gave the older man a lopsided smile, "Hey, at this point, anything's possible."

"This guy's pretty strong looking." Mac added. "And I don't see any signs of a struggle, no defensive wounds or any other injuries for that matter."

"Which leads me in nicely to this." With a flourish, Sid held the magnifying glass to the side of the man's neck. There was a tiny puncture wound in the flesh. "It's most likely from a hypodermic needle, stuck in with a lot of force, notice the small circular bruise around it."

"He was drugged?" Hawkes asked.

"We'll know for sure as soon as we get Tox back."

---

"Our Vic is a _con_vict." Adam's smirk fell as his joke went completely over Hawkes' head. His eyebrows went up at what appeared to be an unnecessary pause from Adam. The young lab tech sighed and continued. "His name is Emilio Alvarez; he's on parole for trafficking stolen goods. Car parts to be precise."

"Makes sense, we found what looked and smelled like motor oil on his limbs. Anybody listed as his next of kin?" Hawkes asked, intending to notify them of Emilio's death.

"His mother, Sylvia Alvarez. He's got one long list of associates as well. Looks like a bit of a gang to be honest." Adam was scrolling further down the record displayed on the monitor in front of him.

"Can you print me a copy please? I'll call Mac, see if he wants to question any of them."

"You got it." replied Adam, tapping a few buttons on the keyboard in front of him, "He might also be interested to know that two of the names on the list are fellow parolees."

Hawkes flashed the twitchy lab tech a knowing glance, "Well that is interesting. How recently were they released?"

Adam snatched some sheets of paper from the printer and presented them to Hawkes, "I got a Lilliana Russo, released about a month ago. And an Eleanor O'Malley, released, wait for it," he shuffled the papers and added with satisfaction, "on Wednesday afternoon."

He handed the papers to Hawkes and only winced a little when the soft spoken man gave him an appreciative slap on the back along with a smile.

"I'd say this warrants a visit."

---

Eleanor pulled her head from under the hood of the car she was working on and sighed deeply. The hot weather still hadn't broken and the garage was boiling like the fifth level of hell. She'd been tinkering with this engine for over an hour; sweat was sticking her shirt to her back, her hands and face were sticky and stiff with grime and her hair was scratching at her neck and face as it fell from the messy bun she'd shoved it into.

She was ready for a break.

Throwing the now black rag she'd been using onto the hood, without even attempting to clean her hands with it, she turned to retreat into the at least fan-cooled haven of the office. Then her gaze landed on the figures standing in the hazy opening of the garage and she stopped in her tracks.

She squinted at the official looking clothes and the rigid stances as the two men tried to obtain some intelligible information from Uncle Marty - the crafty, eccentric and very Irish owner of the garage, who spent his days planted at the door like a mad, lovable old Doberman. Nervousness twisted down her spine and she took a few steps to nudge at the dungaree clad legs sticking out from under a red Lamborghini. The first response was a boot to the shin, but a sharper nudge produced the disheveled and dirty form of Lily.

"What? I'm workin' here."

Eleanor stayed silent, instead nodding her head in the direction of the door.

Lily's delicate, oil smeared face creased in a frown and she scrambled to her feet, knowing it was serious when Nel couldn't even summon sarcasm. When she spotted the suits in the doorway, she froze and felt something jagged come to life in her abdomen.

Two green gazes met with apprehension before Lily muttered, "Cops."

Eleanor nodded and licked her lips.

"You done anything?"

"Besides the pot? Nah. You?"

"Nope. I've only been out three days; gimme time."

Marty's Irish lilt increased in decibel as he apparently reached an understanding of what the cops wanted, and the girls watched as he began to lead them through the maze of half constructed car parts.

"What should we do?" Lily murmured.

Eleanor's eyes narrowed, fixed on the approaching figures.

"We deal with it."

"Girls! These are two, ah, detectives, here to ask you some questions or… eh, somethin'!" Marty exclaimed, gesticulating madly. "Couldn't really make out exactly what they were saying." He added in an exaggerated undertone and wandered off, walking into cars and workbenches and whistling off-key as he went. The older of the two cops spoke first, in a surprisingly soft tone that contrasted his stature and the expression on his face.

"My name is Detective Taylor and this is Detective..."

"Flack." Lily said, a smirk playing across her lips. "Well, well. Detective now is it?" He had changed quite a lot since she had last laid eyes on him. He almost looked taller and there was no doubt he'd been working out. His hair was much shorter and was greying slightly at the sides, but there was no mistaking those baby blues. They hadn't changed a bit. There was still the sparkle in them that--

Lily started slightly as Eleanor elbowed her. "Sorry what?"

"We don't really have time for nostalgia, Miss Russo. I asked if you had seen Emilio Alvarez recently?" Flack had his note book open and was looking at her sternly, but not without the hint of a reluctant smile around his mouth. Lily felt her face heat up and immediately shoved her hands in her pockets, nervously playing with whatever she found there.

"Uh, sure. I saw him a few nights ago...Wednesday maybe?"

Mac and Flack shared a glance.

"What's goin' on?" Eleanor asked warily. "He in trouble?"

"No. He's dead."

Lily dropped the thing she had been twiddling in her hands and gasped. Mac watched absently as the tube of lipgloss rolled across the floor and hit a blue, metal toolbox. His gaze switched back to the two young women in front of him who both appeared physically shaken by the unpleasant news they'd come to deliver. When he and Flack first came in they looked like tired, dirty, working women, wary and street smart and strong. Now they were little girls with big eyes and pale skin smeared with dirt, and a lot of heartache. But then, Mac had learned long ago never to take anything at face value – not even grief.

"How?" Eleanor asked after a moment, her eyes hot and her voice thick and low.

"He was found in a basement, shot in the head. Not only that, but his tongue had been cut out." Flack said in a seemingly offhand manner, watching their reactions carefully. Lily's hand flew to cover her mouth and she felt Eleanor take hold of her upper arm. Her skin was tingling and she felt a little like she was going to be sick.

"Are you…" she started, swallowing heavily around the bile in her throat, "Are you sure it was him?"

Mac nodded grimly, "I'm afraid so – we have his DNA on record, which is how we found the connection to you two. You were known to… _work_ together before you all ended up doing jail time."

Lily closed her eyes and nodded, a million brightly colored memories flashing through her head, while Eleanor's eyes narrowed and flashed. She couldn't deal with the awful tightness in her chest – so she let the unfocused anger burning there flood over it instead.

Mac noticed the dark haired girl tense, fingers curling and jaw clenching, and filed it away as a possible answer to a question they hadn't asked yet. A slight shift in Flack's demeanor told him that the Queens Detective was noticing too, but he kept his voice neutral as he asked the next question.

"Do either of you have any idea if Mr Alvarez was into anything that might've gotten him killed?"

Two mute and negatively shaking heads were their only answer. So Mac tried taking a little offensive, deliberately making his voice harsh and his gaze hard.

"Look, we know he wasn't exactly running as straight as he wanted everyone to believe, and we know you two might be in need of a little extra cash. So maybe he helped you out – if you know anything, you could be impeding the investigation by not telling us."

Wild, blazing anger stormed through Eleanor's body at the _damn nerve of this fucker_, and only Lily's damp, shaking hand on hers restrained her from telling both of them to go screw themselves. Her eyebrows bunched in a scowl and her voice came out strained between tightly gritted teeth.

"Emilio was our friend. If we thought for a second that any of those half-assed gang punks he was rippin' off were capable of this shit… believe me, you'd be chasin' us out the door already."

"Really…" said Flack, eyebrows raised patronizingly, watching the girl's hackles rise and waiting for an answer to any challenge he was radiating, but it was the redhead who answered. In contrast to the ball of friction that her friend had become, she seemed deflated and very weary.

"Yeah. Is there anything else we can help you with? Because I think we have to call his mother and tell her her son is dead."

There really wasn't much they could counter with in the face of her quiet civility, so with a final glance and a shrug of Flack's shoulders, Mac let it go. He handed them a card and watched them disappear into the chaos in the back of the garage, Eleanor's fight-ready shoulders softening into Lily's sad arms.

He sighed and joined Don in picking their way out of the murky heat towards the blazing sunlight outside, his mind racing over words and gestures and crime scene photos, placing the shards together only to find they didn't fit. And wondering where the things he couldn't see yet were hiding.

"What do you think?" he mumbled to Don as they made it to the car, "You knew them before right? Would they be capable of this?"

Don squinted up at the heat bright sky and exhaled thoughtfully.

"Honestly, back in the day, I would've said no. But…" he shrugged his shoulders and fiddled with his tie, "they were just street punks back then. And prison changes people."

Mac nodded, flashing through his endless bank of memories, faces of men and women reduced to monstrosity, and those who were monsters to begin with.

"Yes it does." He agreed grimly, "And so does murder."


End file.
